


Reporting for Duty

by RembrandtsWife



Category: Babylon 5, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, Cunnilingus, F/F, Female Character In Command, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fisting, probably older than print
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her first day of assignment to Babylon 5, Scully learns she has some unexpected duties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reporting for Duty

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in 2002 as an amusement for my then-husband. I hope it can still amuse some readers. :-)

You're striding through the corridor, but you can't remember why. Where are you going in such a hurry? For that matter, where are you? The walls are grey; the doors are irregularly shaped--portals in a bulkhead, not doors in a wall. The walls are bulkheads, and you are on a ship? No, a station. A ship wouldn't have the signs you see at major intersections: Grey 17, Brown 6, Blue 3, Green 7. Underneath the letters you can read are other letters you can't, languages you don't know, not just foreign languages but alien ones. You pass a reptilian-looking male in leather boots and cuirass talking with a handsome woman whose long dark hair is circled by a ridge of what looks like bone; they glance at you and nod, deep in conversation.

You get into a lift and it swoops upward without your having to press a button or give an order. Sighing, you try to catch your breath; you can't appear before the commander in a state. You smooth down your dark uniform tunic, run your fingers over the fastenings, pat your hair to make sure it's still properly pinned up. You want to look ship-shape when you report to the commander, even if you're not really on a ship.

The lift slows, stops, opens. At once you spring out, almost at a run--then you catch yourself and settle into a firm, confident gait. There isn't a fire, no security breach, no medical emergency. You're a doctor and an officer, not a schoolgirl any more; you'd better act accordingly.

At last you stop before the door to the commander's office. It looks like all the others and it isn't marked, but you know it's the right one. You pause to take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then press the chime beside the door. A moment later it opens and a warm voice calls out,   
"Come in."

You square your shoulders and march into the commander's office. "Dr. Dana Scully, reporting for duty, ma'am."

The commander looks up, smiles--a warm, welcoming smile--and gets up from behind her desk. She approaches you with her hand held out. "Welcome to Babylon 5, Dr. Scully. I'm Commander Susan Ivanova."

She's a good bit taller than you are, not much older, with thick brown hair in a loose cloud around her face, clear, direct grey eyes, a full mouth. One silver earring peeks through the mass of hair. A beautiful woman, with that indefinable air of authority that attracts you so much in either sex. "Delighted to be here, ma'am. I've been looking forward to working with Dr. Franklin, and to the opportunities for research that can only be had at a place like B5."

"Yes, I'm sure." Ivanova seats herself on the edge of her desk, one foot on the floor and the other swinging free, and looks at you thoughtfully. "You'll have plenty of opportunity to work with Dr. Franklin, Dr. Scully, but there will be other non-medical duties as well."

"Other duties?" You're puzzled. What other duties could there be for a doctor that aren't medical? It doesn't sound like standard Earth Forces procedure.

"I understand you have experience in local law enforcement as well as your medical training."

"Yes, ma'am, that's correct."

Ivanova nods. "And what about your sexual experiences?"

The tiny thud you hear must be your jaw hitting the deck. "Ma'am?"

"Your sexual experiences." Ivanova slides to her feet. "You're not a virgin, are you?"

"No, but--"

"You've been with men?"

"Yes, ma'am--"

"And what about women?"  
She's right in front of you, now; one corner of her mouth threatens a smile. You have to look up at this woman, and you can feel your nipples tightening as the situation becomes clear to you. 

"Yes, ma'am." The words come out in a hoarse whisper.

"Good." Ivanova nods once. "Because I approved your transfer, Dr. Scully, so you could be my own--" she bends closer-- "personal--" and closer-- "sex slave." You close your eyes as her lips cover yours.

The first kiss from a woman always seems soft, sweet--the scent of her perfume, the slickness of her lipstick gliding against your own. This kiss starts that way, but it doesn't stay soft for long. The commander wastes no time in getting her tongue between your teeth and doing a little exploring, with the same crisp efficiency as if she were doing reconaissance in a fighter. Her tongue is hot and brisk and demanding, her lips are soft, she's not touching you anywhere else, and your insides are turning to hot soup.

When at last she pulls away, you rock back onto your heels, gasping for breath. "Very nice," she says, grinning. "You'll definitely do. Now," she steps away, putting her hands behind her back, "out of that uniform, lieutenant."

Part of your mind insists that this is wrong, all wrong, wrong in every possible way. Another, more clamorous part retorts that it's fun, so who cares? Almost before you're aware of giving consent, your fingers start to unfasten your tunic. You feel the heat of those intense grey eyes as you peel it down your shoulders.

You step backward out of your trousers, at last, and Ivanova swoops down and pounces on your clothes, bundling them up in her arms and putting them in a chair. "Well done."  
You start when you feel her tugging at your hair. "I thought I'd do this myself, Dana." Her voice is almost in your ear. "You have such pretty hair...."

In a moment the pins are gone, and it all tumbles down around your neck and shoulders. And to think you were worried about how it looked....

Then her arms are around you, the crisp fabric of her uniform pressing into your naked back, and perfectly manicured nails scrape delicately over your already erect nipples. "Pretty everything," Ivanova breathes. "Pretty Dana...."

It's thoroughly humiliating, absolutely maddening, and what you've always wanted, all at the same time. You haven't said yes, you haven't spoken a word, yet if you didn't want this, you should've been on the comm to Earth Forces command five minutes ago, filing a complaint for sexual harassment. But it can't be harassment for someone to give exactly what you want, can it? Even if you didn't know you wanted it until five minutes ago....

Your nipples have turned into hot spikes thanks to the commander's expert manipulation. She kneads one breast with her whole hand while her other hand slides down your belly, skimming over the trembling skin (and the dancing butterflies hiding behind it), dipping inexorably toward your mound. You bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud when she teases your curls with her nails. "It's nice to see you're a genuine redhead," she purrs. "But I think I'd like it even better if it were shaved as smooth as a Minbari's forehead...."

You almost giggle at the image her choice of words evokes. But the firm finger sliding between your cunt lips chokes off the breath in your throat. How can you be so wet already? You can't catch the moan that rises when her fingertip presses on your clit.

"Permission to speak, lieutenant." Ivanova lets go of you and turns you around, her hands on your shoulders. Her smile is teasing. Your whole face is hot from this intoxicating mixture of shame and desire and disbelief. "I expect to hear every noise you want to make. Now, on your back, on my desk."

She spreads you out with your legs propped over her shoulders and pins you down with her weight. She's not a heavy woman, but she weighs a lot more than you do, and she's still fully clothed. All the buckles and straps and fasteners press into your skin, hurting, yet stimulating. Her mouth on your breast stimulates and yet hurts, too, when she uses her teeth on your nipples. You whimper helplessly.

The commander rears up a little. "There's a good girl," she whispers. Her eyes are on your face; her fingers are on your nipples now, pulling, pinching, twisting. It's rougher than you've ever had it, but always on the edge between too rough and not rough enough. She's driving you crazy, and the moisture from your cunt must be running down your legs by now and puddling on her large, imposing, immaculate desk.

"Can you come from having your breasts touched, lieutenant?"

You wet your lips. "I don't think so, ma'am."

A brief frown unknots into a smile. "You'll learn. In the meantime, there's more than one way to skin a cat." The smile turns into a grin. "Or should I say a pussy?"

One flick of her tongue on your clit makes you scream as if in agony. That had to be the most intense orgasm of your life. Immediately, however, her mouth goes away; instead of licking your pussy more, she starts kissing and licking your inner thighs. After a minute you realize you're getting even wetter and hotter, and her long hair is brushing your clit, and was that the touch of her earring? Before you can stop yourself, you say, "Please," and then again, "Please, please," until you're panting it out with every breath.

Ivanova slides up your body and kisses you, briefly. Her mouth is redolent of your pussy even though she's hardly licked you at all. "Please, what, lieutenant?"

Looking into her eyes, you understand that you'll have to tell her exactly what you want, or else you won't get it. And that she knows how hard that is for you and is enjoying the prospect of watching you do it, watching you push yourself past your own boundaries.

It takes more courage than any firefight, but you do it. "Please, commander. Please lick my pussy."

Her approving smile makes you warm all over in a way that seems to have nothing to do with sex. "Well done, Dana." And it has everything to do with sex when she buries her face in your cunt.

The next few minutes register in your memory as a weird synesthetic kaleidoscope of your own frenzied howling, the swirling of her dark hair against your pale thighs, the rhythmic contractions inside you that gradually expand to include your whole body. The center of the universe is Ivanova's mouth, anchoring you inside unbearable pleasure. When you feel sentient once again, you're lying totally limp atop the desk, feeling as if you've come enough to last the next decade.

The commander is standing at the foot of the desk, smiling her warm, approving smile. And drizzling lube from a pump bottle all over her gloved hand. "Welcome back, Dana. You're just in time for the second act."

Before you can move a muscle, two fingers slip inside your cunt. Your muscles spasm around them, surprised but not displeased. Her fingertips, pressing forward, diffuse fresh pleasure through your cunt and belly and thighs. Involuntarily your back arches, your hips curl up toward the pressure, and at your response, Ivanova begins to fuck you with her fingers, pumping briskly and hitting your clit with the heel of her hand. Pretty soon you are wailing out your orgasm again, amazed at your own responsiveness.

"Good girl," the commander says, straightening up. She reaches for the lubricant again. "Now just relax."

Three fingers pressing between your cunt lips wring a startled gasp from your chest. It feels so big, as big as any cock you've ever had. Ivanova eases them home till you can feel her knuckles against your mound; her thumb massages your clit until those fingers slide deeper still.

"That's good. That's good. Just relax. Relax." It doesn't matter what she's saying; her voice has dropped to a croon, and her fingers are rocking in and out of you, making your hips rock in reciprocation. Your whole body quivers with some imminent explosion that's approaching soundlessly from a great distance, but you don't know what it is or even what it could be. Then you whimper as her strong hand goes away--whimper and thrash as it returns, working four fingers into your pussy.

"Easy, easy...." She rubs your belly, your mound, splays her fingers out to hold you still while her thumb mercilessly circles your clit. Her eyes are on your face, penetrating grey laser beams, searching you out, observing every reaction. Your treacherous body relaxes under her touch, letting in more and more of those seeking fingers. You don't struggle when she lifts her hand from your belly and reaches for the lube again.

"Let it happen, Dana. Let me in."

Your cunt starts to accept what's happening before your mind can process it and generate resistance. Her whole hand, four fingers and thumb, is sinking into your body, stretching you to the point of pain and beyond, into something that's not pain, nor pleasure as you've ever known it. Never have you felt so full, so vulnerable--stuffed with someone else's hand, impaled on the fist that curls gently up inside you. Premonitory tremors ripple out over your body, even to the ends of your hair.

"That's it. That's it."

She stops moving and looks down at where your body is engulfing hers. Disbelieving, you raise yourself cautiously on your elbows and look as well. Your eyes refuse to believe what they're seeing: Her hand is buried in your cunt up to the wrist, her uniform cuff surrounded by your red pubic hair.

"Amazing, isn't it?" You look to her face and she is smiling, a strangely wistful expression. "What the body can do. When you surrender."

Ivanova bends forward and takes your clit in her mouth again. And you scream so loudly it must shatter the bulkheads as your cunt clamps down on the hand that twists slowly inside it.

Dana woke with a start, feeling that she was falling from a great height. The first thing she noticed was the layer of cold sweat on her skin; the covers had migrated to the foot of the bed. The second thing she noticed was the warm puddle between her thighs.

As she groped for the covers, the dream came back to her. Commander Ivanova? On her desk? She turned over in bed and glanced at the clock. Five-fifty-three a.m. Well, it was Saturday; she could sleep in.

"No more late-night B5 marathons with Mulder," she muttered as she drifted back to sleep.


End file.
